


Standing guard

by Be3



Series: Sherlock Holmes and the Improbable [1]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Crossover, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:50:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26910175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Be3/pseuds/Be3
Summary: In which Dr. Watson's sleep is troubled, Mr. Holmes seeks to avoid dagerous liasons, and elves subscribe to sensational literature. One-shot, first posted at ffn.
Series: Sherlock Holmes and the Improbable [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1966420
Kudos: 9





	Standing guard

Night was settling over London. The panes of a cozy flat at 221 b, Baker Street were blazing, reflecting back the light from the hearth and the lamp on the table. The denizens of the flat, Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson, were lounging by the fire over a light repast.

'Oh, I forgot, I meant to tell you...' said Watson apropos of nothing. 'I've had the weirdest dream this morning. It even bordered on wild, if I say so myself.'

His smile was meant to show that he understood the silliness of reporting such things; it showed that he was still unnerved.

Sherlock Holmes decided to indulge his closest friend. It wasn't often that the man was put off his toast and ham by the play of overwrought imagination. Perhaps the fancied dangers of matrimonial life, which a mere week later would be either proved or dispelled, had affected his sleeping mind.

'And what was it about?'

' _Elves_ ,' Watson replied, meeting his eye.

A horrible moment of weightlessness made the detective thankful he was sitting.

_They had tracked him._

But they had yet to take him. All was not lost. Sherlock Holmes straightened his shoulders and raised his chin.

His friend nodded; he comprehended the gravity of the situation. Leaning back in his armchair, he frowned, recalling the details of the night's incident. Distantly, Holmes noted that Watson's voice remained measured and light. Just as if he was visiting a long-time patient.

'There were three, one fair-haired - man, I suppose we'll have to call them - and two dark-haired twins.'

'Remarkable,' Holmes said with all the vitality of a fried fish and accepted a glass of claret.

'It is such a trifle. I don't know why I bother you.'

 _Fine, don't bother me_ , thought the detective. _You have warned me already._ 'If we are to play gypsies, let's at least have all the facts.'

Watson looked at him in open admiration.

'There was a dirt road between a meadow and a wood. The sun was rising, but the hills were still in shadow. I was picking flowers for a wreath. Don't laugh.'

'I'm not.'

'They came from around the corner and called to me, and I froze - you know how it can happen in a dream.'

'Only too well.'

''Excuse me, sir, we are looking for a comrade,' one twin said with a bow. 'Mayhap you know him? He's one of us.''

'I bowed as well, trying to hide my alarm. 'And that would be?''

''An elf, naturally,' said the fair-headed one. He had a no-nonsense attitude and seemed to be in charge, if not in control, of his companions.'

''Rubbish!' I said firmly. 'Elves don't exist, and even if they did, they'd have to be on the small side, to fit into bluebells.''

'Here they all laughed merrily, and I couldn't keep myself from joining in.'

Holmes cleared his throat.

'What was that?'

'Nothing. Go on.'

''Come on, sir, we are certain you can help us!' the other twin cried, plopping down into the grass. They were all dressed in leggings and shirts, the colour of - of the leaves and the bark and all things in the wood...' A shade of wistful wonder crept into the doctor's voice, and Holmes reached out and touched his sleeve in a small gesture of support. 'And they had a bow, a quiver full of long arrows, and a knife apiece.'

'Were the knives sheathed?'

'Yes, and so they remained throughout our conversation. Will you have it?'

'I'm listening with the utmost attention,' Holmes promised glumly.

'They did not beat about the bush. The twins did most of the talking, and the fair-haired one watched me very intently for some sign; it seemed they had rehearsed the whole business... Somehow, dear chap, it appeared that they were... after you,' he finished apologetically.

Holmes nodded and offered Watson his blackest fortifying tobacco. They both lit their pipes, and it was a while before the doctor went on with the story.

''We know he is the one we need, for you yourself have provided us with a description that fits him like a glove,' a twin said. 'Remember the list?''

''What list?' I asked, feigning ignorance.'

'He put his quiver down and holding the shafts to the side with one hand, extracted a page I recognized immediately. A page of 'The Study in Scarlet'. Never have I been so mortified to see it.'

'Then the one on the left started reading... I'm sure you don't have to be reminded of my rudeness...'

'No, let's hear it,' Holmes said in a strained voice.

''Knowledge of Literature – nil. Ha!' crowed the impertinent fellow. 'Knowledge of Philosophy – nil. Can't imagine why he'd waste his time with that rubbish. ...Astronomy – nil. Hasn't he told you about the Fruits?.. Politics – Feeble...''

''As to politics, I am afraid we'll have to concur,' the fair-haired inserted magnanimously.'

Holmes lowered his briar. He was already beyond smoking, but not yet beyond burning the pipe. Watson avoided looking at him.

'Meanwhile, the other twin wrestled the list to himself with a leer. '...Well up in belladonna, opium and poisons generally. Knows nothing of practical gardening.''

''That's him, that's him!' the fair-haired cried, and they all doubled up with laughter. Really, such feather-brained people. I felt like a fool in my own dream!' The last words were somewhat defiant; Watson was blushing. 'They took everything I put in there - literally _everything_ , Holmes! - as an argument supporting a point of view, without elaborating on what that ought to entail. I have to say, it reminds me of someone.'

'Hm! Continue.'

''What on Earth are you going about?' I demanded, running out of patience. Curiously, I was never afraid of them. 'What is the meaning of this joke?''

''Only that we want Erestor back,' a twin sang with a smirk. Oh my, are you quite well?'

'Splendid,' Holmes coughed out. 'Do go on.'

'I denied knowing such a person, but they were undeterred. We... argued... at some length, but though words grew bitter, our shadows stayed as long as in the beginning; it was a timeless place. A beautiful little valley, all quiet and peace.'

Again, Holmes reached out his pale hand. 'No matter,' was all he said, and the words meant so much more than a platitude. This time, Watson smiled at him before resuming his tale.

''If you accuse me of holding anyone prisoner by force, tell me outright,' I said at last. 'Let us be done with it.''

'They didn't respond at once, and then a twin said slowly: 'You know very well he will not go without your express permission.' I was about to ask for clarification when the other exclaimed: 'But why? Surely he must be lonely there in a world full of mortals! What can hold him? He is stronger than you, Glorfindel.' I never noticed the strangeness of the names, either.'

Holmes didn't have anything to offer. He lied back in his high chair, eyes shut in misery and longing. With unequalled insight, his mortal friend clasped his hand in a vise-like grip. He was looking somewhere beyond the mantelpiece and talking quietly, as if to himself.

''Love might,' Glorfindel said softly. 'As might duty.' They stood for a moment, sad and proud, not caring that I witnessed their private council. Then a twin raised his head and looked me in the eye - it felt like he was probing my very soul. 'Do you suppose?..' he asked unsteadily, and now they all regarded me, I felt a headache coming on... No, thank you, it passed quickly. When they were done with their awful staring their attitude towards me improved out of all recognition. Before, I was like a pebble on the road upon which they travelled, not addressed but invited into the exchange as Hamlet invited Yorick. Now, though, I was a person, an equal...'

_'Watson!'_

'I'm sorry... I... just a touch of vertigo, old man.'

'Aye, just a spell,' Holmes agreed grimly. 'You do not have to tell me everything if it pains you so. After all, it was a dream, nothing more.'

'There's not much left,' said his friend, running a shaking hand through his hair. 'They promised me children and grandchildren, too. And they were certain that you would be there for every one of them... Perhaps it is not so odd to have such dreams on the cusp of marrying,' he added to ascertain his modern views.

'My dear chap!' Holmes burst out. Indignation came at last. 'I would change your sons' nappies even if those blasted busybodies disapproved of you ever having them! The nerve!'

'I never doubted that for a minute,' Watson assured him. There was a playful crease in the corner of his mouth, for it was difficult to imagine Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Esq., taking care of a wriggling toddler, but there was also a grateful softening of the corners of his eyes. 'However, I was led to believe that I would have at least one daughter.'

'Oh no.'

'Yes.'

' _No._ Consider what the vicar will say.'

'It doesn't have to be formal. We'll just use it as a nickname.'

'That,' Holmes said in his most authoritative accents, 'would be a horrible blasphemy.'

'Well in that case...' Watson took another glass and poured wine for them both.

'To Luthien.'

'I will be there.'

A/N: Hooray to the Professor and to Sir Conan Doyle!


End file.
